Imagine, if you will, the Angels hoisting the Commissioner’s Trophy in October, confetti pouring from the sky. Depending on who you are, you’re celebrating, cursing the powers that be for creating you, or shrugging your shoulders and moving on with your life.

Bedtime. You slink into bed, wondering what tomorrow may bring. You dream – it’s a pleasant one, but dotted with underlying moments of horror. You awake the next morning, concerned whether your doom-spotted dreams are a harbinger of some nasty luck. With a yawn, you shrug it off, crawl out of bed and move about your day.

And then, as you straighten your tie, you spy through the corner of your eye the morning news. The headline: Anaheim in Chaos.

You sit down to attend to your bacon and eggs, wondering what could have possibly happened. You grab the remote and turn it up – championship wins usually bring riots, but this seems a little ridiculous.

“We now go live to the podium for an address from the new Lord and Master of Anaheim, Arte Moreno.”

A small piece of bacon becomes wedged in your windpipe, and you begin to choke. Between coughing fits, you utter: “What did I just hear?”

The pleasant, mustachioed face of the Angels owner graces your television screen. His is a fatherly yet sinister visage. Your spine tingles. He begins his address.

“Friends,” he says, “I stand before you humbled. To be elected the first unanimous Lord of Anaheim is a tremendous honor. I promise to carry this newly created office with the utmost fairness and brutality.”

Did I hear the last word correctly?

Then, the picture cuts to piles of Red Sox hats lit ablaze in front of Angel stadium. Vacationing Rangers fans are shown beaten mercilessly with thundersticks at Disneyland. You cringe at the inhuman images. It was a good choice to move to Glendale.

Yes, friends, this is the future I envision. Should the Angels parlay their fantastic offseason into a world championship, we may all bear witness to the end of the city of Anaheim as we know it. In one fell swoop, Arte Moreno and company created the capital necessary to acquire free-agent jewels Albert Pujols and C.J. Wilson in a span of hours. It was a brilliant move, lauded by many as one of the most shocking and exciting in the Angels’ 50-year history.

I see the Big A a few years from now, swarming with a sea of red caps. No other color adorns the stadium – opposing fans have tragically learned their lesson. Those stupid “Make Some Noise!” banners and “We Will Rock You” noise prompts are obeyed to the fullest – no one would dare disrupt the ambience of Lord Arte’s domain. Volleyballs have been banned under penalty of death. His Lordship himself sits in the owner’s box, brooding silently in stark contrast with his rabid public.

“I have everything,” Moreno mumbles as an opposing player is executed for stealing a base amid loud, maniacal cheers, “yet I have nothing.”

So, watch the Angels this year in fear, knowing success may bring unspeakable horrors. At this point, I would not be shocked if many Halo fans are already swearing their allegiance to the man who brought them the best chance at an Angels title in ages. The seeds of horrible change may have already been planted.